


The Back Section of the Video Store

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Shameless Smut, Smut, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: A collection of the raunchy tumblr prompts. Pairings listed in the chapter titles.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Garcia Flynn/Wyatt Logan, Garcia Flynn/Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston, Jessica Logan/Amy Preston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. Garcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181386789028/garcy-smut-prompt-if-youre-inclined-how-do-you

Lucy had, after all this time, gotten good at figuring out her husband’s moods. The little tells that he gave that were easily ignored or misinterpreted by others were like massive neon signs to her by now, indicating if he was frustrated with himself or melancholy or elated or bored.

Right now, everything was telling her that Flynn was wound too tight.

He was quiet, his jaw ticking now and again, and his hair looked like he’d been running his hands through it. Lucy knew that this current project with Denise was taking a toll on him, and she expected bags to appear under his eyes any day now.

And that just wouldn’t do.

She waited until he was in bed, looking over some papers (again), put one on of her silk nightgowns—the dark red one he’d gotten her a few months ago—and climbed into his lap.

Flynn raised an eyebrow as she plucked the papers out of his hand. “I have a feeling you want something.”

Lucy hummed. Close, but no cigar. She ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders, massaging gently. “You’re tense.”

Flynn’s hands fell to her hips as she settled herself firmly onto him, pressing up against him. “Maybe.”

“If only there was someone who could help with that,” she mused, brushing her mouth against his and rolling her hips.

Flynn shuddered from head to toe, and she knew that she’d been right about what he needed. But when he leaned in to kiss her properly, she pulled back. “Nuh-uh. You know the rules.”

Lucy had come to learn she really, really liked being in charge. But she would never just take. She wanted that power given over to her, freely.

Flynn’s hands tightened on her hips and he looked up at her, pupils blown wide. “Lucy…”

“We could just have a quickie,” she said, toying with the hem of his shirt. “After all you have quite a lot of work to do. We could go and take a nice long hot shower… or…”

She let that sentence trail off, the things she wasn’t saying hanging in the air. She ran her finger lightly up and down Flynn’s neck, tracing the hollow of his throat, back up to trail along his jaw.

“How do you want it?” she asked, letting just a touch of command bleed into her voice.

Flynn swallowed. “You know how I want it.”

“But you need to say it.”

Flynn’s jaw clenched—he was still a stubborn, contrary bastard—and then he forced himself to relax. “I want you to be in charge.”

“And?”

She could see the moment his internal struggle ended and he sagged ever so slightly in her arms. “I want you to take me apart. Get me to stop fucking thinking.”

Lucy purred. “Good,” she praised, getting her hands underneath his shirt and on those miles of warm skin. “Strip.”

She got off his lap and went into the closet, pulling out the small box that was settled in among her shoes. They didn’t do this all the time, but every once in a while, Flynn really needed to be taken out of his head, to be taken to the brink and then brought back, utterly relaxed.

They used silk ties for him—they had handcuffs, too, for Lucy, but after going to prison Flynn didn’t want them on him even for sex—and her pulse spiked as she drew the ties out of the box, feeling the material run over her hands.

When she stood up and turned back she saw Flynn had done as he was told, and she couldn’t help the smirk that turned up the corners of her mouth. Flynn wasn’t a man who liked to sit idle and aside from his work with Denise which kept him pretty agile, he liked to go down to the local gym and spar (he and Wyatt kicked each other’s asses regularly and they’d offered to teach Rufus, to which Rufus had said something along the lines of “I think I’d rather get shot again”), and… well, his active lifestyle showed up in his physique.

Lucy walked over, pressing lightly on his chest with the palm of her hand, guiding him to lie down on his back. “Hands above your head,” she told him softly, dropping a kiss onto his shoulder. She liked to be gentle. Flynn deserved nothing less.

Flynn put his hands up, wrapping them around the slats of the headboard, and Lucy expertly wove the silk through and over and around until she could finish it with a knot that Flynn had taught her—secure, but easy to undo if she was in a hurry.

He tested the hold, nodding at her when he found it satisfactory. Lucy pushed her hand through his hair, petting him, taking in the way his chest heaved in anticipation, the way his pupils were blown wide, the way he wet his lips as he gazed at her.

“All wound up,” Lucy noted, cupping his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you now.”

Flynn made a small wounded noise in the back of his throat and she put a finger to his lips. “Shh, you’re okay. It’s okay. Do you trust me?”

Flynn nodded and Lucy felt a surge of power, of joy, that he still so willingly put himself in her hands. “Good.” She tilted her head, pondering. “I think you can talk this time.” Sometimes she would order him not to, but she wanted to hear him tonight.

Then she moved away, spreading her fingers wide and mapping out his body with her hands. Flynn shook a little as he tried not to buck up into her touch, his muscles quivering underneath her fingertips. Lucy pressed her lips to the center of his chest, just above his stomach, and then pressed a little higher, and a little higher, until she could flick her tongue out against his nipple. She took it between her teeth, worrying it, and grinned at the strangled noise in the back of Flynn’s throat.

Lucy kissed up to his neck, sucking on his pulse point for a moment before scraping her teeth along his jaw. Her hands kept moving over his body, feeling him under her hands, God, loving every inch of him. Flynn tugged at the restraints, the way he always did at first.

He’d be too out of it to do that before long, though. She’d get him there.

She kept putting her mouth on him, up and down his chest, along the ridge of his shoulder, up his arm to kiss his knuckles, just behind his ear, using her teeth to worry the lobe before nipping at his chin and moving back down again. Her hands spread over his thighs, his stomach, up his sides, tweaking his nipples. Flynn tensed, and relaxed, and tensed, and relaxed, and then finally, she could feel his muscles starting to relax and stay relaxed.

Lucy pushed up, kissing him deeply as a reward. Flynn groaned a little into her mouth and she bit softly at his lip, her hands moving down to spread his legs.

“Relax,” she reminded him, and then she licked her way all the way down to where his cock had been digging into her stomach, hard and thick. Lucy grinned. Hello, sailor.

She sucked lightly at the tip, working the foreskin down, getting him good and slick and then pulling away to suck at his thigh instead, nipping at his stomach, her hands keeping his legs firmly pressed down into the mattress. Flynn swore quite a lot, in several languages, and as she sucked him down again, licking a long stripe up the underside and then working her way down.

Flynn was starting to make those incoherent noises, and he wasn’t tugging on the ties anymore, but she pulled away and kissed up to his chest again, worrying each of his nipples and sucking a decided hickey into his neck, before moving slowly back down. Flynn was definitely loose by the end, gasping a bit, his chest heaving, and the only words out of his mouth were Croatian.

Lucy felt another purr rumble in her chest. _Very_ good.

She sucked his cock all the way down, working her throat, giving him that hint of teeth, drawing her mouth slowly back up and tonguing the slit before sitting up.

Time to give him a bit of a show.

Lucy peeled the nightgown off, moving her hands over her body. She’d been shy at first, unsure. She’d never thought of herself as someone who was, well, worthy of showing off. Who would want to watch her touch herself?

Flynn, apparently. He liked it very much, and had told her so in various very enthusiastic ways over the years. His face now was nothing short of gratifying, his eyes black and wide, his mouth open, his body starting to shake, his cheeks flushed and hair sticking to his forehead.

Lucy took her time, sliding her hands over her body, massaging her breasts, before finally delving her hand between her legs. She rubbed at her clit while her other hand tugged at her hair, showing off her throat, her whole body arching into her fingers as she plunged them into herself, worked herself open.

Flynn let out a low, desperate whine.

Lucy crawled up to peck him on the mouth. “You’ve been very good, haven’t you?”

She took his cock in her hand and guided him into her, gasping a little into the stretch.

Flynn groaned, long and unashamed, and she held still for a moment to let them both adjust.

“Not until I say,” she ordered, feeling a bit breathless. “Understood?”

Flynn’s throat worked hard, clicking dryly, and then he managed to croak out, “understood.”

She started to move, swiveling her hips in that way that made him go cross eyed, until Flynn was making these desperate noises on every thrust and she found the angle that made her moan, made sparks go off in her fingertips.

Flynn was glassy-eyed, his gaze fixed on her but not fixed on anywhere at the same time. His arms were limp by now, not going against the ties, and he wasn’t so much breathing as gasping. Lucy pushed herself up and down, shivering at the feeling of being full, that slick knife-edge sensation, indulging herself. He’d hold on, she knew. He’d hold on as long as she told him to.

But she wasn’t a cruel mistress, either. She rubbed at her clit again, her stomach melting and quivering, fireworks shooting up her spine. God, she was close, it was time, Flynn was mindless—

“Go ahead,” she told him. They’d had to work up to him being able to do this when she said, but now her voice was like yanking on a string and she felt him stiffen, a garbled shout coming out of his mouth as he jerked inside of her.

Lucy felt herself spilling over the edge, loving the way he lost control completely in these final moments, the way she could feel him hot inside of her, the way his body went completely slack afterwards.

She gingerly lifted herself off of him. She would’ve liked to keep him inside her forever, and sometimes she did keep working him until he was hard again, until he came a second time with a low whine, but she’d worked him hard enough tonight.

Instead she gently undid the ties, massaging his rubbed-red wrists. Flynn turned towards her, seeking her out, and Lucy wrapped him up in her arms, let him mouth lazy kisses along her neck. He got skin-hungry after this and who could blame him, so she let him run his hands up and down her back and bury his face in her shoulder, her breasts, her stomach.

“How do you feel, my love?” she asked, petting his hair back from his face. They’d have to get cleaned up in a minute, but she knew Flynn wouldn’t want her to leave just yet. She’d figured out through trial and error that stepping away from him now, even just to get a warm washcloth from the bathroom, would lead to a mild panic spiral.

Flynn hummed against her throat. “ _Volim te_.”

“That’s not telling me how you feel, although I love you, too.”

Flynn paused, and she could feel him searching his mind for words. “Good,” he said at last.

“Then sleep.”

Flynn made a rumbling noise that could’ve been a verbal form of eye-rolling or just an expression of contentment, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder.

Lucy was more than happy to hold him, stroking his hair and kissing his temple, until he was completely asleep. She’d get him cleaned up and drinking water in a bit. For now, she just wanted to hold her husband.

Because whether it was getting Flynn out of his head or a quickie against the wall or rough in the shower or slow and deep in their bed or any of the various combinations in between, that was how it always ended. And that was how she wanted it.


	2. Garcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181358180943/well-if-youre-taking-smut-prompts-take-what-you

It’s late. It’s so late it’s early, and Lucy knows that she should probably call it a night and go to sleep, but she also doesn’t give a damn. She’s had just enough alcohol to make her feel a pleasant buzz in her fingertips, and she’s eating homemade cookie dough out of a bowl because she decided that was the right thing to make when she got hungry at two in the morning, and she’s got Flynn making her laugh so hard she’s almost falling off the couch.

“Shh,” Flynn chastises, although he’s laughing too as he puts a finger to his lips to emphasize the point. Everyone else in the bunker has long since gone to bed, and it’s true, she doesn’t want to wake them up, but _also_ …

“No wonder the poor man quit!” she hisses back, still laughing. Flynn grabs the cookie dough bowl before it can clatter to the floor. “Oh my God, you little terror.”

“Authority figures and I have always had problems,” Flynn replies, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he grins at her. He’s so goddamn soft when he’s with her just like this, the two of them staying up late and chatting until the wee hours. The exhaustion the next morning is always worth it.

“I wish I had that problem,” she snorts, stealing another bite of cookie dough. Flynn made the dough, because apparently Flynn can bake. This, oddly, makes her want to jump him even more than usual.

It’s been getting increasingly more difficult to ignore the hot curl of want in her stomach when she’s close to him. With Flynn she feels safe, and listened to, and cared for, and… well, look at him, the man’s not going to have a hard time picking someone up in a hotel bar, that’s for certain.

But while there have been moments where she’s thought… where Flynn seemed to possibly… she hasn’t found the strength, the courage, to bring it up. She rushed headfirst into things with Wyatt, alone and lost and dizzy from leaping all the way from suicidal to elated in the span of a few days, and if she gets the ground dropped out from under her again with Flynn she’s not sure her heart could stand it.

It feels like every time she reaches for what she wants, it gets taken from her, and now she’s not sure if she even deserves any of it.

Flynn gives her a piercing look. He’s good at those, at reading her. “You wish you pulled pranks on teachers that were so bad they retired?”

“No, I mean…” Lucy sets the bowl aside on the coffee table. “I was taught to respect authority. I think now it was my mom preparing me for Rittenhouse but… I don’t know. I have such a hard time telling people to fuck off, I get so scared–and then I end up never getting anything. Like tenure.”

She’s aware that there’s a fair amount of bitterness in her voice, and she hates that, they were just laughing and relaxed and now…

Gentle fingers cup her chin and tilt her face up so that she looks Flynn in the eye again. “Lucy,” he says, and his voice is soft, and warm, and aching, and _God_ she wants him so badly. “I… it’s… this is just an observation and I could be wrong.”

He lets go of her chin like her skin burns him, the way he always does when he touches her, like he’s realized he’s made a grave error. She hates that but doesn’t know how to get him to stop. “I think… I think that maybe you have a hard time asking for things because you’re not sure if you’re allowed to have them. That you… deserve them.”

Flynn clears his throat, and now he’s the one to look away. “Which is ridiculous because you deserve nice things more than anyone.”

Lucy’s heart skips a beat. She nudges his knee with her foot. “So… what do you recommend I do instead?”

Flynn shrugs. “Take what you want.”

She watches him for a long moment. She wants Amy back, she wants her mother to become the mother Lucy remembers and not this awful Rittenhouse cultist, she wants Rufus to be all right because since he came back to life he’s been distant and quiet, she wants Jiya to stop having nightmares, she wants to get out of this fucking concrete coffin, she wants Wyatt to sort his shit out.

She wants…

God, she wants Flynn.

And she can’t have any of those other things, at least not yet. She can’t fix Rufus or Jiya, Wyatt doesn’t seem to listen no matter how she yells at him, her mother isn’t any better on that front, and she can’t get her sister or her old life back.

But maybe, just maybe…

She sits up and crawls over to Flynn, giving him just enough time to stutter out a confused, “Lucy wha—” before she slides into his lap and takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

He tastes like chocolate and vodka, his lips warm and soft against hers, the barest scrape of stubble against her lips. Flynn’s reciprocation seems instinctive at first, but she presses more firmly against him, slides her tongue along the seam of his lips, and then he really comes alive and—well, if they were in that theoretical hotel bar she’s not sure she’d bother getting him up to her room, she just might have to drag him to the bathroom in the lobby.

Flynn pulls back, his eyes wide and dark and wondering as they gaze up at her, and he looks like she’s a goddamn revelation, like she’s taught him how to breathe again. “You’re drunk.”

She shakes her head, even as her heart plunges in fear. “I—you said to–and I—I want you.” The last words come out in a rush. “You’re what I want. I mean you’re not all, I do still want–you know I want Amy back and I want to teach again because I really miss those stupid kids and their stupid essays but…” She starts to move off his lap. “I’m sorry, I thought—but if I was wrong…”

Flynn catches her around the waist. “You’re not going to… regret this,” he says, his tone caught somewhere halfway between a question and a statement. “Lucy, I—this isn’t—if this is just for one night…”

“No! No I—I sleep in your room, Garcia, for God’s sake, I’m not… this wouldn’t be…” _I love you_ , it’s on the tip of her tongue, but she’s not quite courageous enough for that yet, not after last time she gave her heart away. Not that she thinks Flynn would stomp on it, he’s been nothing but gentle with her, but. Still.

She takes a deep breath. “When I’m with you, I’m happy. And I like… this, that we do. I just was hoping we could add… y’know. Holding hands and, um, stuff, to it.”

“Stuff?” he teases, dragging her back into his lap.

“Mm-hmm, stuff,” she replies, settling down onto him, and ohh, her doubts quickly fade away when she feels definite evidence that he’s on board for this.

Flynn’s hands slide up her sides, then back down, his fingers fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. Lucy runs her hand through his hair, makes it all floppy and messy, and kisses him again just to get the point across. Flynn licks right into her mouth this time with a soft growl that sends a hot, delicious shiver down her spine.

When he pulls away this time, it’s only to kiss softly down her neck, his hand catching at her hair to gently tug her head back and give him more skin to explore. “Yes,” she instructs, the word slipping out as her hips start to rock into him. Oh, God, yes—she knew she’d want him no matter what but it’s a real benefit to feel him hard and thick pressing up between her legs, a little on the large side the way she likes. “Garcia…”

It occurs to her that she might be pushing for more than he wants to give all at once, and she pushes at his chest. “Flynn, hey.”

He looks up at her, and mmm, debauched is a good look on him. “We don’t have to…” she bites at her lip, trying to find the right words. “We can be as… slow as you want, if you want.”

Flynn reaches up, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger. “I said take what you want,” he tells her. He brushes his lips against hers, his hips thrusting up subtly, making her mouth drop open. “And I meant it.”

It’s… it’s a terrifying declaration, one that she’s not sure she’s worthy of receiving. It’s not those three little words but in a way it’s deeper than that, not just love but trust, complete trust, _surrender_ , submission, Flynn placing himself in her hands and she can only hope she’ll resist the urge to hold on too tightly.

She takes his hand and guides it down, under her shirt, then up again, until he’s cupping her breast. Flynn groans, looks like he’s a dying man being offered water. “Then I’d like to take you to bed,” she tells him.

The walls of the bunker echo, as Rufus and Jiya and Wyatt and Jess have all demonstrated on more than one occasion (although nobody begrudged Rufus and Jiya the ‘so glad you’re not dead anymore’ marathon), but she doesn’t care if anyone hears them. The others (cough Wyatt cough) all think she and Flynn have been doing this anyway, since she now shares his room, so if they overhear something they already expect to hear… what of it?

Flynn pulls his hand out of her shirt and moves both of them under her thighs instead, standing up and holding her all at once, causing her to squeak and wrap her legs around him. Okay, she knew he was strong but… mmm, they’re going to have fun with this. He holds her like she weighs nothing.

“We’re leaving a bit of a mess,” he points out, indicating the alcohol and cookie dough and discarded cups.

“Leave it,” she decides. She’s always cleaning up after everyone, always taking care of everyone, let them repay the favor for once.

Flynn chuckles, and lets her kiss him all the way back to his room, even though it means he can’t see where they’re going very well. They stumble into the wall at one point and she buries her face in his shoulder to muffle her laughter.

His bed is, ah, not large enough for two—there’s been a combination of awkward spooning and Flynn taking the chair going on—but it’s a relatively soft surface so it’ll do. Flynn bends down and she sprawls out on it, fully intending to yank him down on top of her, but then he’s getting on his knees and tugging down her flannel pajama pants and oh— _oh—_ okay, she can get behind this.

Flynn kisses up her thighs, taking his sweet time, licking through her folds like he’s literally trying to drive her to the brink of insanity. She tugs at his hair, trying to tell him to hurry the _fuck_ up and stop teasing her, since all she can manage to say right now is some variation of a rather undignified moan, but Flynn happily ignores her and spends quite a bit longer teasing her and working her loose and open until he finally, _finally_ , seals his mouth over her clit and sucks and it feels like her bones melt as she comes.

The look of smug satisfaction on Flynn’s face should annoy her but it’s honestly adorable. He looks like he successfully guessed what she wanted for Christmas. Lucy tugs him up to her, because yes she might not be able to feel her legs right now but also they’re far from through.

She tries to kiss him, but Flynn pulls back a little, his thumb brushing her flushed cheek. “What?”

He wets his lips and looks horribly, terribly embarrassed. “When I… when I first met you, in that bar, I thought… you were so beautiful, you took my breath away. I never thought I’d seen you look better.” A smile flits across his face. “But right now you look…” He swallows. “You look radiant.”

That just might be the sweetest damn thing anyone’s ever said to her, and she has to kiss him right now immediately or she’ll burst into tears. Flynn kisses her back gently, like he knows what she’s not saying, and lets her flip him over and get him undressed because dammit she’s taking what she wants tonight and she wants him, completely, utterly, until the end of time.

He’s thick, as she predicted, and it takes a bit of stubbornness on her part (and some genuine concern on Flynn’s because he is, as ever, terrified of hurting her) but after she’s adjusted and their hips are flush against each other, she is determined to enjoy the ride.

And it’s a hell of a ride.

She scratches up his chest a fair bit, which is honestly his fault because he changed the angle until he found the one that made her cry out and dig her nails in and then he kept at it, but it’s all fair because when she falls forward Flynn sucks a rather large hickey into her neck that it’ll take a whole bottle of concealer to cover.

She comes hard for the second time when he gets his thumb on her clit, and she feels him shudder and follow her, and then she’s collapsing on his chest and he’s holding her, holding her like she’s the only thing that exists in the world, and she feels so incredibly safe and loved.

They lie there in silence for a moment or two, catching their breath, until they do have to clean up and go to the bathroom and get their pajamas back on because it’s cold in this bunker.

When they’re all settled, there’s a moment where she’s scared of what’ll happen next. Scared that this is still going to blow up, because Lucy Preston doesn’t get what she wants, she almost gets it and then it’s yanked away.

But Flynn slides into bed, and opens his arms to her, and she slides right in and nestles her head on his chest like it’s where she’s always belonged.

“So now what?” she whispers.

“Now, it’s whatever you want,” Flynn replies.

She tips her head up to look him in the eye. “Us,” she tells him. “I want us.”

Flynn’s smile is soft but blinding.


	3. Garcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181339125178/smut-prompt-garcy-ive-been-thinking-of-you

Flynn felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and initially ignored it, grabbing a can of marinara sauce off the shelf. Then it buzzed again, and he figured, he was late on his way home from work and Lucy was probably worried.

He pulled out his phone, idly opening the text as he put the jar of sauce in the basket…

…and promptly dropped the phone with a clatter onto the ground.

He scooped it up, looking around as if the mom with her two kids down the aisle would have somehow telepathically seen his text from thirty feet away.

The text was, ah, a photo. Lucy had apparently decided that she wanted to get started on the evening’s activities and had sent along a photo to hurry him up.

Flynn glanced over his shoulder in case someone was coming up behind him, then looked at the photo again.

Lucy had taken it by lying on her back and holding the phone up above her head. Her dark hair spilled out on the pillow underneath her, her breasts on full and glorious display, her free hand underneath a pair of black lacy underwear, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Flynn was pretty damn sure he knew what that other hand was doing under that scrap of lace.

 _I’ve been thinking of you all day_ , was the caption.

Fuck.

Flynn tapped out quickly, _at the grocery store_ , then walked straight to the check out. If he forgot something they needed, he’d come back for it later. Lucy in an impatient mood was a terrifying, wonderful, nail-marks-down-his-back-for-days creature. He wasn’t wasting a second because he couldn’t remember if they were out of apples or not.

In the car, his phone went off again. _My fingers aren’t as nice as yours_.

He swore violently in about three languages. Jesus Christ his wife was trying to kill him.

He pulled into the driveway, grabbed the groceries, opened the front door, and was immediately attacked.

Seeing as he was attacked by a pretty much naked Lucy with her hands in his shirt and her mouth on his, he didn’t mind too much.

Flynn dropped the groceries on the floor, his hands sliding up and down her back. Lucy shivered, her hands moving up from his shirt to his hair, raking her fingers through it. Flynn got his hands to the back of her thighs and lifted her up, prompting a purr of satisfaction from Lucy.

“C’mon,” she said, yanking at his shirt, and then giving up and undoing his pants instead.

Flynn turned and pinned her back against the door with his hips, sliding his hand in between to feel how slick she’d gotten. A growl shot out and he dragged a finger through her folds, prompting Lucy to inhale sharply.

“Tease later,” she told him, batting his hand away and pulling his cock out, stroking him fast and tight until he was bucking into her hand. “You can do whatever you want later, God, Garcia just—”

“I’m holding you to that.” He already had a half a dozen ideas, but fuck, first, first this.

He helped her guide him into her, inch by inch until his chest was shaking with each inhale, the sensation of her blocking out everything else. Lucy dug her nails into his shoulders. “Fuck me,” she whispered, canting her hips. “I need–I need you to fuck me, _please—_ ”

He thrust sharp and short into her and Lucy moaned approvingly. “Yes, yes, just like that—”

Flynn thought he was going to lose his goddamn mind, but then he always thought that whenever he got to be with her. It had literally been years since he’d put a ring on her finger and yet every time they did this he couldn’t help but think, _God I’m a lucky bastard_.

The door rattled a little in its frame as Lucy clawed at his back, then got her hands on either side of his face and guided him to kiss her, her tongue slick and hot and demanding, until they were swallowing each other’s sounds as he gave it to her in that rough way she liked. Her heel was digging into his back and she was clenching around him, biting at his lips, and fuck he liked it when she got desperate and dirty like this.

He kissed her and fucked her, over and over, until time seemed to stand still and move blindingly fast all at once, until she was panting into his mouth and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of oblivion, until they were really giving the structural integrity of the door a run for its money—

Until Lucy let out a sound that might, if one would be so inclined, be called a scream, her head falling back against the door. Flynn sucked at her throat, feeling the thundering pulse under his lips, feeling her warm arms around him, feeling all of her, _inside_ her, his beautiful, wonderful wife, and he nearly slid to the floor as he came.

Lucy was purring like a goddamn cat, petting his hair and keeping her legs firmly locked around his waist. “Bed,” she announced happily, and a bit smugly if you asked Flynn. Lucy tended to get smug when she knew she’d made him lose his mind a bit.

She got smug a lot.

Flynn pushed off the wall, supporting her with his hands under her thighs. After all, he really was overdressed for the occasion, and they had such a nice bed waiting for them upstairs…

“You really are insatiable, you know that, right?” he asked as Lucy peppered his face with kisses on his way up the stairs.

“You love it,” Lucy replied.

He paused, the words shooting out of his throat before he could stop them—even though he knew by now that Lucy didn’t want him to stop them, that she wanted to hear them. “I love you.”

Lucy’s face grew soft, her eyes shining as she cupped his chin, her thumb brushing his lip. “I love you too.”

The groceries definitely remained forgotten on the floor until the next morning.


	4. Garcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180827639903/tries-to-hold-back-chuckles-prompt-flynn-lucy
> 
> As a sequel to this: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180767854228/prompt-homesick-either-garcy-flogan-or-garcyatt

Lucy didn’t always fully believe that it was all over. That they’d really finished things, that she was free to live her life however she pleased.

Part of it was that she wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. She still wanted to be a history professor, if only because she’d worked so damn hard to get there, but so much of her knowledge was literally defunct thanks to the changes that she and Rittenhouse had created. But she wasn’t about to go get her degree all over again. And she’d never gotten tenure, and had essentially up and disappeared on Stanford… according to one colleague she’d contacted, most people thought she was dead.

So really, she was at cross-purposes.

One thing that she was certain about though–the thing that made her believe that Rittenhouse really was dead and gone–was that Flynn, who had the foresight to do some financial planning while back in time because a) he needed to fund his operation when he’d stolen the Mothership and b) sometimes wars were won by the guy with the bank account, had gotten them a house.

Not a big one, but large enough for two people and, Lucy hoped this was what he’d meant buy getting a house with a spare bedroom, room for one or two more. They hadn’t yet talked about the whole kids thing.

Although they probably should given how much time they were putting into the ‘making kids’ part of it.

Lucy didn’t know how other people dealt with getting a new house, a proper home for the first time in two years, but she and Flynn dealt with it by having sex on pretty much every surface in the place.

Flynn ate her out nice and slow on the kitchen counter, like he had all the time in the world and was damn well going to savor that, until she was clutching at his hair and whining, for once not worrying about being loud and disturbing the rest of the bunker.

Then they fucked against the wall in the shower, after they’d tried the stairs and decided that was more trouble than it was worth, Flynn kissing along her breasts and scraping his teeth against her nipples as he thrust into her, hard and slick the way she liked it, the way that made her feel liquid. She might have gotten a little overenthusiastic about screaming his name, but the neighbors could just lump it. She’d had to cover her mouth through her orgasms for six months, she wasn’t shutting up for a second longer.

Finally they fucked in the bedroom. There wasn’t even any furniture in it yet, but they had a mattress, and she rode him slow and deep, watching Flynn’s dark gaze flickering over her body as she moved. His hands slid up and down her sides, to her breasts, teasing her nipples and then moving back down again, his thumb rubbing slow, concentric circles over her clit. She could remember the first time she’d seen him look at her like this while they fucked, the first time she’d felt him touch her like this, with a kind of determined reverence. She’d realized, then, just how much he loved her, even if he didn’t say it for another month or so–his oddly gentleman-like behavior asserting itself, not wanting to force his feelings on her. But she’d already known, and welcomed it, feeling it wrapping around her like a blanket.

Like home.

They got takeout for dinner and ate it on the bare floor of the living room. They didn’t have much, just their few clothes, some piles of books, and a few family treasures that they’d managed to save, Flynn having gotten some of his stuff back from Homeland after they’d seized his house and Lucy having gotten some of her things from the storage unit her mother’s lawyer had put them in.

She leaned back into Flynn’s chest, watching the moonlight coming in through the windows. _Curtains_ , she thought. _We need curtains._

Flynn buried a kiss in her hair. “ _Moja draga_ ,” he whispered. It had taken him months to tell her the meaning of that, too. “You all right?”

She nodded, tilting her head back so she could smile up at him. “Of course I’m all right.” She took his hand and intertwined their fingers, squeezing gently. Flynn, so bold and uncompromising and uncaring for the opinion of others in pretty much everything else, was always tentative with her, always double checking. “I’m home.”

Flynn’s smile was wide and sweet and nothing short of besotted. In the half-dark of their house, his face was practically in shadow, and yet she could hardly believe sometimes this was the same angry, broken face she’d seen in the flickering flames of the Hindenburg.

“Good.” He kissed her properly that time, his mouth tasting like the chili flakes he’d scattered on his food. “I’m home, too.”


	5. Garcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/176038406998/hi-do-you-take-prompts-i-love-your-ot3-but-would

Flynn wasn’t a stupid man.

He knew what was going on, the lay of the land. So when he ended up miserable, he knew he’d have no one to thank for it except for himself. He’d gone into this with no illusions, understanding exactly what was expected of him and what he could and couldn’t ask for.

Lucy had been grieving. They’d lost everything. Lucy more than most. Not to discredit what Jiya was feeling—they’d had a talk about that once, actually, over some beers, after he’d left Lucy asleep in his room. Jiya had asked him what it was like, losing Lorena almost right in front of his eyes.

But Jiya had lost just one person. Lucy had lost two.

She’d watched her mother die, listened to her mother cling to her awful, broken beliefs until the last, and then watched her best friend die in front of her not half an hour later. She watched the woman who’d done it all, who’d even taken her sister from her, get away as her gun clicked uselessly.

That wasn’t even getting into that whole fucking mess with Wyatt.

So when the future Lucy and future Wyatt had appeared—no wonder she was off-kilter.

No wonder she had sought him out.

The soft knock at his door had startled him, but who had been on the other side had startled him even more. He’d expected Future!Lucy, or a grieving Jiya, or hell, even Denise to talk strategy.

Instead it had been Lucy. Her eye still bruised, her hair a mess, wearing his big black sweater.

He hadn’t said anything earlier when she’d stolen it. He hadn’t known what to say. What to call the strange thing fluttering in his chest.

“Can I come in?” she’d asked.

He’d said yes, because what else could he say, and then somehow between that moment and the next she had been in his arms and kissing him.

He’d known from the first that he should step back. That this was because of all she had been through. That it was because she couldn’t have who she really wanted, the man who’d just told her that in spite of it all, he was still in love with her.

(Some days, he really hated Wyatt.)

But she hadn’t been drunk. And when he’d tried to pull away she’d shaken her head and pulled him back to her and said “No, Garcia, don’t–” and he’d heard all the things she wasn’t saying: _don’t leave me, don’t abandon me, everyone else has, the world is upside down, please not you._

He’d seen what was happening the last few weeks. Had been happy to be the man she leaned on, the one she turned to for comfort. This was just an extension of that, and he accepted it.

She’d tried to make it fast, make it rough, but he hadn’t stood for that. He’d kissed her deep and slow, the way she deserved. He’d peeled her clothes away slowly, taking his time, kissing down her neck until she’d been clawing at him, begging him. He’d set her on the bed and licked into her and he hadn’t really cared if anyone, if Wyatt, Future Wyatt, hell even Future Lucy, could hear the moans her present self was making.

But as he’d lain there afterwards with her slumbering away in his arms, he’d known what this was about.

So really, the only one to blame for his current situation was himself.

They were in their new bunker. Lucy had her own room, technically, but she was almost never in it. She slept every night in Flynn’s room.

He tried not to read into that either. Sex was exhausting, why wouldn’t she just fall asleep afterwards? Besides it was winter and bitterly cold in this bunker. They couldn’t turn up the heat too high otherwise someone was bound to notice the weird patch of heat in the middle of nowhere. It made sense she’d want his warmth at night.

Every time, she still knocked. Flynn didn’t understand that. She had to know by now that she was welcome. “Come in.”

Lucy slipped inside. She was wearing another one of his sweaters and underwear and nothing else. “Whatcha reading?”

“Biography on Clara Bow. Did you give Wyatt a heart attack in that?”

Lucy looked down at herself, then shrugged. “If he saw, so what?”

Flynn swallowed down the bitter taste coating his throat. Lucy had been nonchalant about Wyatt this whole time. Dismissive, even. She might as well have put it up in neon lights: I’M SLEEPING WITH FLYNN BECAUSE I KNOW IT WILL PISS YOU OFF.

Lucy walked over to him–sauntered, almost–taking the book out of his hands and sliding into his lap. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

She was smiling down at him, looking so carefree. Happy, even. He wished she’d give him the chance to make her even happier, to give her all of himself, but if this was all that she would let him be to her then he would take it. The fact that she could smile at all, after what they’d been through, was enough of a miracle.

Lucy leaned in, kissing his jaw, his throat. “Y’know,” he observed, “I’m starting to think that you want something.”

“Maybe.”

He got a handful of her hair and gently tugged, angling her face up so that he could kiss her properly. He’d learned a lot about what Lucy liked in the past couple of months. She liked having her hair pulled, for one thing. She liked when he showed off his height and strength and fucked her against the wall. She liked when he let her playfully pin him onto the bed, holding him down and riding him slow and deep.

Lucy hummed against his mouth. Her hips rolled and he could feel himself getting hard already. He was a weak, weak man and he’d always give her whatever she wanted, would always crave her, be weak for her.

He loved her with every fiber of his being. It didn’t matter if she didn’t love him back. He hadn’t even thought he was capable of love anymore. To be able to love another creature, to be allowed to love someone and take care of them—that was more than he deserved. More than he thought he’d get.

He slid his hands underneath her sweater (his sweater, and he loved how she stole his clothes and hated it was just another way to taunt him even if she didn’t realize that was what she was doing), lifting it up and off of her, nearly choking on his own spit when he saw she was wearing nothing underneath.

She went right back to kissing him, smiling against his mouth again. He couldn’t help but wonder what had put her into such a good mood. It wasn’t like things were particularly going their way in this war against Rittenhouse.

Lucy paused suddenly, pulling back. “Garcia?”

“Yes?”

She stared down at him, her eyes dark and searching. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He frowned up at her. “Are you okay?”

She ran her hands over his arms, his shoulders, almost absentmindedly. “You don’t seem… you seem withdrawn. Did I… is something wrong? With us?”

Yes, but it was his own fault. He was the one who wanted more than she could give him.

“No.” He reached up, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “Everything’s fine, Lucy, I promise.”

She took his hand and gently lowered it. “Garcia. I know when you’re lying to me. What’s wrong?”

He stared up at her. It felt like his chest was too small for his heart, his lungs too tight for air, the room closing in. “I—”

“Am I overstepping?” Lucy’s eyes were sad, now. “I–I know you still miss your family, if I—if I pushed too far, went too fast, I can—we can be more casual, you know, we can—”

“I’m not sure how it can get more casual than it already is,” he blurted out.

And here he’d thought he’d kicked the habit of saying stupid things around her.

Lucy stared at him. “What?”

“It can’t really get more casual than… friends with benefits,” he said lamely.

Lucy looked at him for a moment, then said, in a worryingly light tone of voice, “You think we’re friends with benefits?”

Every part of him was screaming _this is a trap this is a trap this is a trap_. “Is that… not what you want us to be?”

“I cannot believe you.” Lucy used the discarded sweatshirt to lightly swat at him. “We’ve been dating for three months and you thought–what the _hell_ , Flynn—”

“We—I—what?” Dating!?

Lucy glared at him. “What did you think all this was?”

“You slept with me when you were hurting, Lucy. When Wyatt told you he loved you after being an ass to you for months. After you’d lost your mom, after we’d lost Rufus, what was I supposed to think?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe that what you hadn’t said—what you hadn’t needed to say—in Chinatown and then what Wyatt said later made me realize who I wanted to be with?” Lucy’s eyes were getting wet with tears and oh, shit.

She tried to slide off his lap, to get away, but Flynn grabbed her and kept her close, holding her. “Lucy. Lucy I’m sorry. I thought–”

“But I love you,” Lucy said, her voice small, scared. Like she thought he’d kick her out.

Flynn held her tighter. “I’m sorry.”

After a terrifying moment, Lucy brought her arms up, hugging him back. Clinging to him, more like.

“I love you,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry, I thought… it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” she repeated. Then, in a slightly more amused tone, “What did you think I was stealing all your clothes for?”

“…to make Wyatt angry?”

Lucy pulled back, taking his face in her hands. “No, you idiot, to make you jump me. Jesus Christ do I have to do all the flirting around here?”

“Apparently.”

She kissed him. “And why do you think I’ve been smiling more lately, huh?”

“Denise caved and brings us Ben & Jerry’s every Sunday?”

Lucy made to swat him with the sweater again but he picked her up around the waist, making her yelp in surprise instead. He knew she could feel the rumble of his laughter in his chest where they were pressed together.

She loved him. She _loved_ him.

He might not let her out of bed for a week.


	6. Garcyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/176038408608/part-ii-now-that-im-thinking-about-it-that

For the record.

If there was a record.

But for that record, if it existed: the only reason that he had agreed to it was because Lucy had made Wyatt ask him.

If Lucy had asked him, he would have said no, because like hell was he going to get into the middle of Wyatt reluctantly agreeing to something just to make Lucy happy.

But Wyatt had asked him.

Flynn had… not been unaware, that Lucy was attracted to him. He’d even thought, right in the wake of Rufus’s death, that he might have a chance with her.

But then the whole traveling on your own timeline future selves Save Rufus thing had happened and in the wake of it, somehow, Lucy and Wyatt had…

Not gotten together. Not exactly. But they’d patched things up. Become friends again.

‘Friends’ in the sense that the sexual tension could be cut into slices and served as dessert.

He wanted to be angrier about it, but it was a little difficult when Wyatt (apparently verbally bitchslapped by his older self, according to Lucy who’d been there to see it and had called it ‘a masterpiece’) shuffled to him, looking like a kicked puppy, and had apologized for being an asshole. And for keeping his suspicions about Jess to himself. And about not trusting Flynn. And about…

It was a long apology, okay?

After that, Wyatt had started… coming to him. For advice or just to talk. And he’d started to get a soft spot for the guy.

But he really hadn’t expected Wyatt to come up to him one night, say, “hey can we talk?” and then say, “hey, so Lucy and I were talking and I was—we were—hoping you might, um, beinterestedinathreesome.”

“…I’m gonna need you to say that one more time, Wyatt. While breathing.”

“Ah. We were, uh, I mean, you know how I said… that, um, sometimes, I thought I might… be bi?”

“That was a three hour long conversation so yes I remember.”

“Right. So. Lucy and I talked about. That. And we talked about—uh. If you’d. Because you’re. Yeah. So we were hoping you’d… join us?”

Flynn had honestly thought it was a prank for a good ten seconds before he realized that Wyatt looked so terrified he might run and lock himself in the bathroom for the next month.

So yeah, he’d said yes. Because Wyatt had asked him, despite how hard it must have been, and because lurking underneath the fear had been a heartbreaking look of hope, and because he was in love with Lucy, and because Wyatt was damn easy on the eyes, and because Garcia Flynn really needed to change his middle name to ‘masochist’.

And hey, the sex was good.

Well, better than good. _Great,_ actually. Lucy was a goddamn vixen in bed and never seemed to run out of energy, riding his cock like she was made for it, sometimes having both him and Wyatt in a night. And Wyatt couldn't control himself for shit and begged Flynn to fuck him and looked like perfection with his lips wrapped around Flynn's cock.

Not that he’d expected anything less. Of course they had to work Wyatt up to some things. But Lucy was bossy and loud and greedy and perfect and he loved the way she crawled into his arms and ordered him around and how she would literally yank him and Wyatt on either side of her so that she was perfectly sandwiched in between them to hog all the warmth. And Wyatt was shy and sweet and soft and surprisingly sly and pushy when he wanted to be and he shivered whenever Flynn touched him and would put his head in Flynn’s lap afterwards so Flynn would pet his hair.

And the thing was, Flynn knew where his strengths were. Flirting? Yeah, no. Lorena had once been asked if Flynn was good at flirting and she’d laughed so hard she’d fallen off her chair. Sex, though, sex he could do, because bodies were bodies and it was like any other physical task he’d gotten good at over the years.

He’d always been best when no words were involved.

So he understood why they kept him around. Kept inviting him into their bed.

But God, he’d have to be blind to see the way that Lucy and Wyatt looked at each other. The sappy, besotted look that Wyatt would give Lucy whenever she showed off her history knowledge. The pleased, proud look that Lucy would give to Wyatt when he thought of a clever way to get them out of a bind.

It was fine, he told himself. They’d never stopped being in love with each other. He’d always known this was coming.

And honestly, it was all his fault. What sort of idiot fell in love with not one but two people who were perfectly happy without him? Two people to whom he was… extra? A fun bonus?

It was only a matter of time until they got tired of him. Until they were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t need him or want him anymore. He tried to brace himself for when that time came, although he knew that no matter what, it would hurt.

He was lounging on the couch, idly flipping through some files, when Lucy crawled into his lap.

He obligingly set the files aside. “Where’s Wyatt?”

“In the shower, shh.” She pecked him on the cheek. “We need to think of something for his birthday.”

“His birthday?”

“Yeah, I was thinking a joint boyfriend-girlfriend present.”

Flynn’s heart stopped.

Lucy saw his face. “…unless you already had a present for him?”

“Sorry. Just.” It felt like his brain was now a computer blue screen. “Boyfriend-girlfriend?”

“I don’t know what else you’d call a polyamorous joint present. Partner-present?”

“Polyamorous.”

“As in dating more than one person at a time? Garcia? Did you hit your head?”

“Who hit whose head?” Wyatt asked, walking in, still damp from the shower and grimacing as he knocked some water out of his ear. Thirty four years old and the idiot couldn’t dry himself off to save his life, Flynn thought fondly.

Lucy jumped in surprise. “Garcia seems to have forgotten how the English language works.”

“He knew enough Italian to save our asses last mission so I think he gets a free pass.” Wyatt leaned over the back of the couch and Flynn kissed him automatically, growling a little when Wyatt nipped at him before standing up and going over to the fridge.

“So just to be clear,” Flynn said carefully. “You and Wyatt and I are all dating.”

“No,” Lucy replied. “We’re sleeping with you and Wyatt just stole your shirt and I’m sitting in your lap because we really respect our relationship as coworkers.”

Flynn looked up. Huh. That was his shirt Wyatt was wearing.

“Why?” Lucy asked, tilting her head quizzically. “Everything okay?”

For the first time in months, it felt like he could breathe properly. “Everything is perfect.”

Lucy lay down on top of him so that her head was on his chest, using him as a massive pillow. “Good. Wyatt, bring us some water?”

“Work work work, that’s all I’m good for around here,” Wyatt fake-grumbled, but he brought them water when he came over to join them, poking until Flynn and Lucy rearranged themselves so there was enough room for Wyatt to curl into Flynn’s side.

They’d done this several times before, just cuddled on the couch, shooting the breeze or watching a movie or just breathing together. _Oh_ , Flynn thought. _Oh_.

So, for the record.

Yes, he was an idiot.

(But he was _their_ idiot so really what did it matter?)


	7. Garcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187483206858/if-youre-still-taking-prompts-from-that-amazing

This isn’t usually how it goes.

Usually they stumble into the room, clothes flying, high on adrenaline or angry and needing to do something about it or desperate after nearly losing each other. Or else it’s stolen moments in the shower, his mouth at her breasts with her back to the wall, her legs locked around him. Sometimes, rarely, if they wake up early enough, it’s kisses between her thighs to go with her coffee, his teeth around her neck as she strokes him until he spills, trying to start the day out right.

Tonight, though, she wakes in the dark.

His body is a mass beneath hers, a giant, unexplored territory. It could be the surface of the moon, for all that she knows of it in this hushed darkness.

Lucy reaches out, her fingertips exploring. The slope of a shoulder, the width of a chest, the puckered skin of a scar.

Flynn’s hand seizes her wrist, and she freezes. Waits.

She can’t see in this darkness, but she knows when his eyes are on her. She moves forward, feels a cold, snapping hunger, more wolf than woman in these two suspended seconds, and her mouth finds his fingers, her teeth seizing his knuckles, the pads of her fingers pressing against the pulse of his inner wrist.

He rolls her over, rucks up the lace of her nightgown, and she wraps her leg around him, sinks her claws into the meat of his back. He is huge in the darkness, a looming monster, unyielding and unbound, except for in her hands. She finds the soft places and digs in just as he does with hers, his teeth and fingers clasping her, holding her in place like caught prey.

It’s nothing but breath, no words, gasps and choked snarls like predators in the night, and she feels less than human, more than human, she thinks she can taste blood on her tongue. She kisses him with spit-slick lips, opens her mouth wide and lets him inside, until her jaw is aching and she feels plundered, his stubble rubbing her raw.

He isn’t gentle. She doesn’t want him to be.

He’s entering her and it could be called claiming except he’s the one shuddering and she feels triumphant, like she should be spread out on top of a red, red cloak, like there should be nothing but wild woods all around them. She tugs on his hair and makes a tiger of him with stripes down his back, makes a mount of him just as he makes a sweet meal of her, and there are legends that say women ran with wolves and she is sprinting.

Perhaps she woke up from a dream of lovemaking, or perhaps it’s something more, but she already feels halfway there by the time they kiss, and by the time he’s moving inside of her deep and harsh like the ocean in winter, she’s right on the edge. He bites her, right where her pulse flutters, and only the moon hears her howl.

All riders have reins and her hands are in his hair—one sharp tug, and she can feel the heat of him like a covenant.

He rolls to the side and she follows, keeps them entangled, nips at his throat, wolves at play.

The next kiss is messy, loud, playful, the kind that goes on and on and on until she can’t even move anymore.

The world is dark, and endless, and empty, and full. There exists nothing but the two of them. Their legs are entangled, his hand at her hip, large enough to hold a kingdom, his forehead against hers, an age of possibilities in the empty space between her chest and his.

She falls asleep with her lips to his jaw, her teeth temporarily sheathed.


	8. Garcyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187251468783/so-im-the-anon-who-asked-about-the-garcyatt
> 
> As a follow up to this: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187067263918/garcyatt-daisy-chain-pretty-please

“You know what we need to try?” Lucy asked over breakfast. “A daisy chain.”

Wyatt, who was pouring cereal, frowned. “Uh, you want to try looping flowers together?”

“That’s not… I mean that is a daisy chain but that’s not what I mean.”

“That could work,” Jiya said, walking in with Rufus in tow, lured by the smell of coffee. “I mean, Mason would probably throw a fit but it could help us get the lights up in the far side of the hanger.”

Lucy frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Daisy chain. Where you plug a bunch of extension cords into each other? We used to do it at college all the time but technically we weren’t allowed because it was a fire hazard. You make a long chain of cords that way and you can plug all your stuff in. ‘Twas daisy chained.”

“She means when something’s on fire and you make a line of people and you’re passing water buckets from one person to another,” Flynn said. “How does the non-native know this?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, either,” Lucy said.

Rufus rubbed at his temples. “…it’s a sex thing, isn’t it?”

Lucy beamed. “He gets it!”

“Whatever it is,” Wyatt said, “I’m not interested.”

* * *

“…okay, I’m interested,” Wyatt said an hour later.

“I knew you would be,” Lucy said, smug.

Flynn, who was reading on the bed, did not dignify any of this with a response.

* * *

The key to unusual sex positions, Lucy had found, was that you couldn’t just get into the position and go at it like rabbits. It made the whole thing unnatural and feel like just ticking off something on a bucket list without really enjoying it for its own sake.

So when the time came, she didn’t tell the boys what she was planning. She didn’t say, _and on Wednesday at three p.m. we’re going to all suck each other off._ She just waited until they had a (relatively) free evening, and then waited for Wyatt to flop onto the bed and put his arm over his eyes, groaning.

“Long day?” Lucy teased, getting onto the bed by his legs.

Wyatt’s eyes were covered by his arm so he couldn’t see what she was doing, but Flynn, who was still kicking off his shoes, definitely could. He raised he eyebrows and fondly rolled his eyes when Lucy jerked her head at him for him to join them.

Wyatt’s arm flew off his face as Lucy started undoing his pants. “What?” she asked innocently, sliding his zipper down.

“Don’t you ‘what’ me,” Wyatt grumbled without any real heat. “You—”

He undoubtedly had something to say after that, but Flynn kissed him at that point so whatever it was became lost against the curve of Flynn’s tongue.

Wyatt obligingly lifted his hips as Lucy tugged his pants down, allowing herself a brief grin before she nosed at Wyatt’s stomach, nipping at the soft skin there and feeling Wyatt’s cock start to swell against her cheek.

Flynn was having the time of his life teasing Wyatt, if the noises she was hearing were any indication, and at one point one of them growled and she heard the rattle and shuffle of clothes being discarded.

“Off, off, off,” Wyatt chanted, and she glanced up from sucking at his thigh to see him yanking at Flynn’s shirt. “Garcia, c’mon…”

Lucy drew her tongue up the underside of Wyatt’s cock and he made an adorably strangled noise. Flynn huffed out a chuckle and she heard the jingle of his belt coming undone.

She pulled back, grabbing Wyatt’s ass to turn him, get him onto his side, which produced a confused noise from Wyatt until Flynn started murmuring at him to _be good, hey, open wide, going to be good for us today?_

Lucy licked along Wyatt’s fully-hard cock, watching through her lashes as Flynn fed his own into Wyatt’s mouth, Flynn’s hand firmly stroking Wyatt’s hair. Wyatt’s lashes were fluttering, his face flushing with embarrassment and pride as he did as Flynn told him. It had taken Wyatt a lot of practice to learn how to give a blowjob and he was rather proud of himself, although he would never have admitted that out loud.

Fortunately, she and Flynn had learned to read all the things Wyatt didn’t say aloud.

Lucy took his cock into her mouth properly as Wyatt did the same with Flynn’s, enjoying the stretch to her jaw and the choked noise Wyatt made in response. Wyatt was so loud, no matter how hard he tried not to be, moaning and humming, and Flynn’s breathing was growing more labored, intense, harsh breaths through his nose, and it was hard for Lucy not to just reach down and start to rub herself off.

But she had a plan, and she wanted to stick to it, dammit.

Luckily Flynn was also one to stick to a plan, or at least the plans that Lucy laid out, and a moment later she felt hands sliding up the backs of her thighs, squeezing her ass, sliding back down—massaging, teasing, gently spreading her legs. There was a bit of shuffling as Flynn got her underwear down, and she had to pull back from Wyatt’s cock—ignoring the delicious little whimper Wyatt made in response—but then her leg was lifted up, slung over Flynn’s shoulder, and she felt his teeth at her inner thigh, biting softly.

Wyatt was squirming underneath her, and she wished she could get a good look at his face from this angle. Hell, she wished she could get a good look at Flynn’s, easily able to imagine the glazed look in his eyes, his ruffled hair, the flush on his neck and jaw. Lucy kept her rhythm steady but not too much, not overworking Wyatt, wanting to keep him on the edge a little longer.

Flynn’s tongue curled up the underside of her clit and Lucy jolted, expecting more of a tease and instead getting merciless pressure, her hands digging into Wyatt’s thighs as Flynn rubbed the flat of his tongue against her.

She could hear Wyatt’s muffled noises as he continued to suck Flynn down, and if she looked up and angled her head just right she could see his expression, his face pink, his eyes closed, looking glazed and gorgeous. Flynn’s fingers were digging into her skin and she could feel his mouth everywhere, what felt like the very heart of her, right up against her raw, beating pulse—and the whole time she kept moving up and down on Wyatt’s cock, feeling her jaw ache pleasantly, feeling it twitch against her tongue, hollowing out her cheeks and sucking—

Wyatt’s hand found the back of her head and tightened in her hair, trying to pull her back, a wordless warning, but Lucy didn’t want it. She pushed herself further down on his cock and let him spill down her throat, uncaring about the excess that leaked out the corners of her mouth, sliding down her chin, her neck.

Unlike herself, however, Wyatt had a terrible gag reflex and not nearly as much practice—he choked and spluttered, pulling off, and Flynn had to pull back as well, resting his face against Lucy’s thigh to laugh through his orgasm as Wyatt glared at him.

“Garcia,” Lucy admonished, reaching down to tug at his hair. She was so close, so very close, feeling like one part of a conduit, an electrical circuit that had to be completed—

Flynn neatly flipped her onto her back. “Apologies, _draga_ ,” he teased, and then he was between her thighs again, sucking, licking, a finger sneaking in to press against her, slide inside her, and Lucy gave herself over to it all. To the salty taste in her mouth, her sore jaw, her swollen lips, to the mess on her neck and chest, to the sight of Flynn’s dark head between her thighs, all of it, she gave in, and crested the wave like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket.

She lay there, gasping, her vision blurry, the world spinning slightly, as Flynn collapsed on the bed, using her knee as a pillow. Beside her she could hear Wyatt struggling to recover, and she wanted to roll over, wanted to suggest they all hop in the shower, but that would require moving and she wasn’t really capable of that at the moment.

“Do I have good ideas or what?” she asked.

Wyatt just groaned. Flynn’s head didn’t move, but his hand raised in a thumbs up.

Lucy grinned. Hell yeah she had good ideas.


	9. Jamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/186877519103/hi-so-imma-just-prompt-you-here-and-you-can-do

There was a demon in Amy’s basement.

Lucy, Amy’s older sister, had summoned her with help from Flynn because of course Flynn knew how to summon a demon, and Wyatt, who had muttered something about knowing said demon or something like that.

Amy wanted to know how Wyatt could possibly know someone like this demon, though. This demon was lovely.

Amy had glimpsed her whenever Lucy had gone down to try and convince the demon to help them in their quest with a particularly awful poltergeist. Lucy was a paranormal investigator and clairvoyant—Flynn was a demonologist, and Wyatt was, according to Lucy, “a complete blank spot.” He couldn’t see, hear, or otherwise sense ghosts, but it meant that ghosts also couldn’t affect him. It had apparently become handy in a pinch more than once when powerful spirits had been wreaking havoc with Lucy and Flynn.

The demon didn’t look much like a demon. She had blonde hair, and a pert nose, and fantastic arms. She sassed Lucy a lot, and didn’t seem all that inclined to help, especially if Wyatt was involved.

Amy wanted desperately to meet her.

“I have a reading,” Lucy said, “at a new house. Flynn and Wyatt are meeting me there, I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”

“Okay! Stay safe!” Amy waved her off.

The moment Lucy was gone, Amy grabbed the keys that her sister hid in the empty flour jar that they never used and then unlocked the seven locks that held the basement door shut.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, Amy’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. What if sh was making a mistake? The demon didn’t look harmful, but then, that could be a disguise…

The demon looked up as Amy entered. She was trapped in a circle that had been drawn on the floor, occult symbols and piles of salt keeping her contained. “You’re the sister,” the demon said. Her eyes, dark brown, suddenly flashed red.

“Yup, hi, Amy, that’s me.” She examined the demon, but the creature looked human. “You don’t look very demonic.”

“I can make myself look how I choose,” the demon replied. “Humans tend to prefer that I look like them.”

“I’d prefer you look like yourself,” Amy said.

The demon blinked at that. “Are you sure, little one?”

“I’m not that little, you’re, what, five foot five?”

“Five nine, with the horns.”

Amy laughed. “With the horns? That’s hilarious.”

The demon’s lip curled slightly in amusement. “I’m not joking.”

“Then show me.”

The demon stared Amy down. Amy stared right back.

The demon sighed. “Very well. But if you run from the room screaming it’s your own fault.”

Amy blinked, and the air seemed to shift, like an invisible curtain was dropping away, and the creature that stood in front of her was definitely not human. The dark brown eyes now glowed red permanently. The demon’s skin was red, but not that unnatural neon red from bad horror films but a dark, rich scarlet, with patches of what seemed to be scales here and there. A long tail like that of a lion swished between legs that were oddly bent, like the demon’s knees faced the wrong way around. And two black, ringed horns curled up high, tapering to a graceful point on each end.

“Holy shit,” Amy blurted out.

“I know, I know.” The demon rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard it all before so let’s just get to the part where you leave, okay?”

“You’re amazing,” Amy said.

The demon took a small step back in surprise. “I’m… what?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Let’s just say my last, uh, close encounter with a human, he wasn’t too into my true form.”

“Wyatt’s an idiot,” Amy said. She knelt down, right on the edge of the circle. She could cross it, if she wanted. The demon just couldn’t. “Can I… can I touch you?”

The demon knelt, holding out a clawed, red hand. Amy pressed their hands together, seeing how they were almost identical in size except for the curved talons the demon had.

“My name is Amy,” Amy said. The demon’s skin was unnaturally warm. She liked it.

“I have many names,” the demon replied. “You would probably know me as Jezabel.”

“You were named after her? Or her after you?”

“Both. Neither.” The demon winked at her and smirked. It made Amy’s stomach melt. Their fingers were curling around each other, linking their hands further.

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“You could call me by my nickname. Jess.”

“Jess. I like that better. You look like a Jess.”

“You look like an Amy.”

Amy reached out. “Can I…” She gestured at the patch of what seemed to be scales on Jess’s shoulder.

Jess nodded, and Amy gently pet the scales, finding them dry and warm to the touch, like a snake. Jess’s tail swished back and forth in what appeared to be pleasure.

“You’re lovely,” Amy murmured.

“Speak for yourself,” Jess said. “Such a pretty thing, no wonder your sister’s so protective. Do you help her with her work?”

Amy shook her head. “No. I don’t have the gift and Lucy’s… like you said, protective.”

“Then you should probably leave, she’s not going to be pleased you’re seeing me.”

Amy looked up into Jess’s red eyes. “I’ve been watching you,” she confessed. “Seen glimpses.”

Jess raised an eyebrow. “I know. I’m a demon, give me some credit.”

“You don’t mind?”

Jess shrugged. “You’re the first person who hasn’t taken one look and gotten pissed off. Or treated me like I was going to eat your heart, as if I’d do that, humans taste disgusting. Well.” Her smirk grew. “Unless you’re doing it the… right way.”

Amy scooted a little further, until her knees were brushing the curved line painted onto the floor. “So no one’s ever liked you, when you look like this.”

“Nope. Kind of a boner killer.”

“I disagree,” Amy said fervently. She dared to run a finger up one of Jess’s curved horns, as Jess bent her head to give better access.

“Pretty things like you should be careful,” Jess murmured. “There’s all kinds of things a demon could do to you.”

Amy crawled completely into the circle, taking Jess’s clawed hand and guiding it to her shirt. “Show me.”

Much, much later, the basement door opened and Amy stirred lazily as she heard footsteps. The footsteps started slow, then halted, then picked up speed.

“Amy!” It was Lucy.

Amy opened her eyes a crack to see her sister, her mouth open in horror, skidding to a halt at the edge of the circle. “What did you do to her!” Lucy hissed. “You aren’t supposed to be a lust demon!”

“I’m not,” Jess replied evenly. She was curled around Amy, Amy realized, and her lion’s tail was flicking lazily back and forth over Amy’s bare leg. All of Jess’s skin was flushed red like a defense signal, a warning to predators. Her arm, draped over Amy’s waist, tightened. “This was all her idea.”

Lucy raised her eyes up to the ceiling as if asking for patience. “Amy,” she said, her tone deceptively light, “why did you just seduce a demon of the Nine Hells?”

Amy turned her face to look up into Jess’s molten eyes. “Because she’s beautiful,” Amy replied. “And she has a nice laugh.”

“Hey, look at that, I have more incentive to cooperate with you,” Jess said.

Amy grinned up at her sister. “See? I was helpful.”

“You were the opposite of helpful. Please put clothes on, and please don’t ever talk to me about this again.”


	10. Jamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184935691053/prompt-jess-sends-the-photo-to-amy-you-know

Amy was just walking into the house after Jiya had dropped her off when her phone buzzed.

She saw that it was from Jess and closed the front door behind her absentmindedly, swiping right to open the text without really thinking about it. Jess was in the local theatre production of _My Fair Lady_. Not a musical that either of them felt was a favorite but Jess had wanted to get in good with the company so that when they did _Chicago_ next spring she’d be considered for Velma. Jess had said they were trying on costumes today so she must be letting Amy know when she was getting home…

Oh holy _shit_.

Amy nearly dropped the phone, fumbled, definitely did drop her purse, and then somehow stumbled to the bottom of the stairs and sat down heavily. Heat slid down her spine and pooled between her legs.

_Trying on my outfit! Well part of it anyway. What do you think?_

What did she think?

What did she _think!?_

Jesus Christ she wanted Jess to fuck her sideways in that, that’s what Amy thought. God, in the corset with her boobs and—and her arms—her fucking leg in that skintight stocking—

Amy marched directly upstairs, set the phone with the picture open on the bedside table, and flopped onto the bed, undoing her jeans and sliding her hand underneath. Fuck, Jess could just lift those skirts up… _get on your knees for me, baby girl, that’s it, so good for me…_ Amy would eat her out so good, Jess’s hand in her hair, giving her soft instructions, praising her, _aren’t you so eager for me, right there, that’s it, a little harder, very good, that’s my good girl._

She’d be so good, so good for her, get Jess to fall over the edge, gripping Jess’s thick, gorgeous thighs, her tongue twisting and licking until Jess tightened her hold on Amy’s hair and pulled her away.

_I think we’ll use the strap today._

Jess could still wear all of it as she fucked Amy, Amy spread out on the bed in front of her, gripping the bed posts like Jess instructed, moaning, not holding back on the noises because Jess liked to hear her, Jess still in that goddamn corset and fucking her with small, sharp thrusts, finding just the right spot until Amy was soaking wet and begging _please please please_ and only then would Jess slide her hand down and rub at Amy’s clit and let her come, _since you asked me so nicely._

Amy thrust two fingers in and out of herself, rubbing frantic little circles into her clit, coming with a sharp arch of her hips and a soundless gasp—still staring at the photo.

She took the phone, holding it high up above her head with one hand, and snapped a photo–herself, hair disheveled, flushed all over, her hand down her undone pants, the glazed look of orgasm plain in her eyes.

 _I think that outfit looks great on you,_ she responded.

The reply was nearly instantaneous.

_You greedy little thing. I’m going to get you for that later._

Amy grinned. _I’m looking forward to it._


End file.
